My blood pounded in my ears. How did she know everything? How did she see me so clearly when no one else did? “There’s only one man I’m actually interested in,” I said, “and I’ve never met him in person.”
She raised her eyebrows at that, the topic of her parents forgotten. “I’m intrigued. Tell me.”
And for some reason, I did. I told her about Michael, about our strange setup.
Beth listened carefully, as if this was of keen interest to her. God knew why. But she narrowed her eyes as I talked, paying close attention. Like the last time I’d confessed to Beth, it was intrusive and freeing at the same time. When I’d finished, she spoke.
“Your problem is a simple power imbalance,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means this man knows everything about you, and you know nothing about him. He knows where you live, where you work, the fact that you’re single. Has he told you if he’s married?”
“He says he’s divorced.”
“Which could be a lie.” She paused. “If he’s a former cop, he might know about what happened to you as a child. Or he can easily find out.”
The thought gave me chills. “I’ve never told him about that.”
Beth shrugged. “In return, all you know is what he’s told you over the phone. You have to believe what he says, because you don’t know anything else. That’s a power imbalance, and you know it.”
I shook my head. “Michael’s personal life is none of my business. We have a professional relationship.”
“Except for the fact that you’d like to screw him.”
“Beth, I pay him.”
“Obviously, you wouldn’t pay him for that part,” she said. “That part would be volunteer.”
With horror, I realized that my cell phone was still recording. I reached out and stabbed the recording off.
Beth watched me do it. “Apparently, you don’t want to talk about sex,” she said.
“I’d prefer to talk about your sex life,” I shot back.
“We’re not at that part of the interview yet,” she replied, unfazed. “Maybe later. In the meantime, we’re talking about you.”
“I really wish we weren’t.”
She looked at me. Her eyes were mesmerizing, so large and deep, easy to get lost in, even now. She must have been impossible to resist when she was twenty-three. “For the record, I think this detective is probably exactly what he says he is,” she said. “He’s probably even nice. And actually single. But you’re never going to know if you let him stay a mystery because it’s more comfortable that way. That’s my advice.” She shrugged. “It’s your call. Make it.”
It wasn’t until hours later, when the lobster bisque was finished, the bill paid, and I was sitting at my desk at the end of the day, that I realized four things about that lunch with Beth:
One, she really had come to find out what had happened in the interview with Detective Black. And because I hadn’t called her. So she had at least one weakness.
Two, she’d said her mother had lived her whole life in shame. Why?
Three, she had deftly turned the subject away from her childhood, then made me turn the recorder off by embarrassing me.
And four, when I’d mentioned Mariana’s possible mental illness, Beth had been angry. That was what that cold expression of hers was, the dead voice that gave me the chills. Beth hadn’t been bemused or dismissive at the suggestion that her mother had been crazy. She’d been suddenly, icily angry.